"I … want to see it that way. I want to get over feeling like I'm drowning the moment the water touches me."
"You can. With me. I'll show you," he promised. "You just have to trust me."
"I do," she said. "I thought I'd never trust a man again, but you're so different than-"
He froze, going so still she feared for a moment she'd said the wrong thing. Then he drew back, cutting off all physical contact with painful abruptness, and his mask of indifference fell into place. She was losing him again to whatever darkness lived inside him that he seemed to think she couldn't handle.
"Trust me in the water, Emma. Only in the water. I'm a guide to the other side of your fear of drowning. That's all."
"Don't tell me what to do." Hands on hips, she smiled to take the sting out of it. "If I want to think you're an amazing, kind person, you can't stop me."
He shook his head, his beautiful, talented lips stretching into a frown that looked all wrong on him. "You're confusing the act of stopping a jerkweed from manhandling you with some kind of heroic deed. I'm not that guy."
"You're so silly. That's the definition of a hero."
Did he really not see himself that way? It was so clear to her that he was a good man. Why was she having such a hard time convincing him of it?
And that was the crux of this. He wanted her. His touch dripped with desire and yet he held himself back from turning their interaction into a highly charged fling-one she'd been angling for since day one. But because he was such a good man, he wanted to protect her from being hurt, even without knowing whether she needed protection or not. It was what he did, without question, without hesitation.
It was as maddening as it was endearing.
"We'll agree to disagree," he said flatly. "What you call heroic is common decency. That's all."
"But common decency is rare," she argued. "Or we wouldn't need heroes."
He crossed his arms over his washboard abs, hiding them. But she still knew they were there, just like she knew other things about him that she couldn't see.
"You can push this all you want, but it's not going to change anything. I'm not good for you."
This called for new tactics. Desperately. Because she wanted his mouth on hers again, wanted to taste his sun-bronzed body, wanted to experience life in all its glory, and Dex was the key.
"Maybe I need a little bad after what happened." She waded through the surf, closing the gap between them slowly so she didn't spook him into backing off. "Maybe I'm jaded and irreparably damaged inside from a horrible relationship, and all I want is a man who will take me up against a wall and screw my brains out, a man who knows enough to shut up and kiss me instead of worrying about hurting me."
She risked placing her palms on his pectoral muscles, which were quickly becoming one of her favorite things about him. So hard, so tight, and so protective of what lay beneath-his huge heart.
His eyes darkened as fast as his jaw went tight. But he didn't move out of her reach.
"That's a crock and you know it, Emma. On the inside, you're hopeful. Bright and optimistic, or you wouldn't be here. You're in the ocean trying to heal yourself. That's the opposite of jaded. And you deserve to be handled like a fragile piece of glass, not devalued in a course encounter with a jackass who won't call you in the morning."
Emma's chest filled so fast her head spun. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
His bitter laugh cleared the dizziness in a hurry. "Yeah? You're a fan of guys who flat out tell you they're going to sex you up and then disappear? You need a new definition of romance."
"Okay." She cocked her head and zeroed in on his flinty gaze, refusing to let him look away. He wasn't that guy, and she'd never believe he was. "Then show me what's romantic to you."
He groaned, and her hand vibrated with it. "Why is nothing I'm saying registering with you?"
"Maybe because you're not saying the right things," she suggested. "I have yet to hear what's so bad about you. What could possibly be so horrible that you not only won't tell me what it is, you seem hell-bent on making sure I know you're a one-time thing, when clearly you want something more meaningful?"
At that, he did step back, and the shutter dropped back over his expression, going so deep that she was pretty sure she'd lost him for good this time.
"Remember how you had a bad feeling about your ex and it turned out to be so much worse than you'd expected?" he said softly, his voice gravelly with an edge that promised she wasn't going to like his next statement. "Your track record for getting a sense of who a guy is under his skin isn't so great."
Oh, God. No, she wasn't and as reminders went, that one was brutal. Dropping her hands as fast as she dropped her gaze, she whirled away before he clued in that he'd just torn a new hole in her gut. "Well, then. Guess there's nothing more to say."
She couldn't sort out what hurt worse: that he was right, or that the barb had come from the one person she'd thought might be the answer to her prayers.
Without bothering to correct him-after all, it had been Rachel who had the bad feeling, not her-she waded out of the water, leaving Dex alone in the surf. Over her shoulder, she called out, "Thanks for the moonlit swim."
It should have come off jaunty and carefree except for the part where her voice broke. He didn't respond, nor did he try to stop her. Eyes burning, she walked back to the resort in the moonlight, refusing to shed one single tear.
And that's what she got for always trying to see the best in someone … a brutal reminder that she sucked at judging people, and no one had her best interests at heart except Rachel.
The next morning Rachel bounced out of the bathroom, clearly still on a Klingon-style orgasm high, and threw herself on Emma's bed with a contented sigh. "I think we should go ahead and book our next visit to this place. I could come back here about four times a year and never get tired of the delicious panorama of sights."
"Yeah, the water is pretty," Emma intoned automatically and stuck a pillow over her face in case Rachel wasn't distracted enough by visions of Rico the bartender dancing naked in her head.
The last thing Emma wanted to deal with was a bunch of questions about her horrifically unsuccessful midnight jaunt. Rachel had been asleep in her bed, alone, when Emma had returned to the hotel room last night. Which was perfect. Why had she told Rachel about Dex's offer to go swimming with her anyway? It was the height of stupidity.
"I meant the men. What's wrong, honey?" Rachel smoothed a hand over Emma's arm. "Didn't you find your guy last night after all?"
"No," she mumbled into the pillow.
It wasn't even a lie. The man she'd found wasn't the sweet, bighearted man who had continually come to her rescue over the past couple of days. She didn't know what she'd found other than more disappointment in the male species. And herself.
That's why she'd vowed to stay clear of men in the first place: because she couldn't pick a decent one out of a lineup. Enter a smoking-hot guy with soulful gray eyes, and she'd forgotten all about her disability. And he'd reminded her of it. She was done. For really real this time.
"Oh. So I guess that means no snorkeling today then."
At that, Emma flung the pillow off. "Who said that? I made you a promise last night. We're going snorkeling."
Rachel pushed her glasses higher on her nose. "But you didn't get your personal snorkeling lesson. Isn't that what you said you needed to do first?"
Yeah, she'd said a lot of things and done very little. It was time for some action, and she didn't need Dex to get where she wanted to go. She hadn't even known he existed before she got on a plane to come to the Caribbean with Rachel. What did it matter if he'd made good on his promise to go under with her or not? She could meet this stupid phobia where it lived, on her own terms, like she'd planned to that first day.
Of course, she'd been interrupted by the handsy cretin before she could make herself do it. But she'd gone in the ocean last night with Dex, and even though she hadn't exactly put her head under the water, it didn't matter. Knee-deep was farther than she'd gotten at home.
"We're going."
"Are you sure?"
The caution in Rachel's voice decided it for Emma. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll even call the concierge to book it, so you just go put your contacts in."
As Emma dialed the room phone, she sent up a little prayer that someone other than Dex was helming the snorkeling excursion today.
But of course that was precisely who stood at the end of the dock smiling at the other resort guests who had elected to take a snorkeling trip that afternoon. Bare-chested, dark-haired, dazzling-in-the-sunlight Dex. The universe must not be listening to Emma Richardson anymore.